I found myself talking about this tree among friends a couple of Saturdays ago, and it reminded me of this poem. Beautiful memories of a beautiful tree, when my babies were babies. Read it, close your eyes, and join the hive with me.
Note from August 2017: My girl came home last night and told me, tearfully, that the new owners of our old house cut down her favorite tree – the only one in our yard she could climb, and the one I often loved looking at through the dining room window. It always shed large branches in wind storms or heavy rain, but its dark, fat old limbs always reminded me of muscles and the bees loved the brief white blossoms in the spring. Farewell, old tree.
Spring / The Hive
Outside the bees fly in
Of so many down-turned white blossoms
Hanging from branches
Heavy with green leaves
Curtains forming a shady canopy
Inside it the constant
I close my eyes
Turn off my loud thoughts
And join the hive.